Amidst the Alders
Being one of the Chronicles of Cyron
Lavender’s green, dilly, dilly
Lavender’s blue
If you love me, dilly, dilly
I will love you
Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly
And the lambs play
We shall be safe, dilly, dilly
Out of harm’s way
Cora MacCaeden sang the soothing lullaby to her restless infant son as she rocked him gently in her arms. A comforting fire crackled in the hearth, and the boy ceased his fussing, nestling his tiny face into Cora’s auburn tresses cascading past her shoulders.
As she stared lovingly at the sleeping baby, Cora’s heart swelled with pride and affection. It had taken longer than expected for her to conceive, and she was determined to cherish every moment with her precious boy, no matter how frustrating or exhausting. Memories of the years she shared with her husband flooded her mind.
One memory in particular stood out among the rest.
“Aren’t you lookin’ awfully fresh and scrubbed today. I dunno that I ever seen you so clean,” Cora remarked playfully to her companion as they left the village of Braenamora behind to take a stroll through the forest surrounding the cozy hamlet. It was late summer in the Caladen Highlands, and the trees had already begun trading their leafy greens for brilliant shades of red, orange, and bronze. “That wouldn’t be all for me, now would it?”
Connor MacCaeden proudly tugged at his freshly oiled leather waistcoat, running a hand through his shoulder length brown hair that was tied back neatly. “You daft lass! You know it’s for tonight’s ceremony.”
“And what ceremony is it that you be goin’ on about?” A wily expression spread across Cora’s face. “Are you plannin’ to have yer way with me out in these here woods?”
Connor knew Cora liked to tease, but that didn’t stop him from blushing ever so slightly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ye?”
“I would, matter-of-fact!” Cora heartily rejoined. “But my father might insist you marry me first.”
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“It’s not that he don’t like you, ye daft boy. You just have a bit of a reputation is all.”
“And what reputation would that be?”
“It’s well known you’re one for chasin’ skirts.”
“I’ve an eye for the pretty lasses, it’s true.” Connor shrugged. “But yers be the only skirt I’m chasin’ for months now.”
“Are you sayin’ I’ve reformed ye?”
Connor stopped midstride and grabbed Cora earnestly by the shoulders. Her heart skipped a beat at his fierce grip and his piercing blue gaze as he stared intently into her own emerald eyes. “I’m sayin’ I love ye, lass!”
Cora had always suspected as much, but hearing Connor confess his feelings out loud made her lightheaded and effervescent. She allowed herself to be folded into Connor’s strong arms, and contentedly rested her head against his chest.
They followed an obscure and meandering trail that ushered them away from the well traveled thoroughfare to a small, hidden glade a little more than a league outside of Braenamora. Connor laid his tartan out on the grass, and the two of them reclined in each other’s arms. They stared up at a cloudless blue sky as bright sunlight streamed through the autumnal foliage, covering the forest floor in pleasant sun dapples.
“After the oath swearin’ ceremony tonight, my father will name me laird of Lochmuir. I’ll have my own house and income, and I can ask yer father’s permission to marry you.”
Cora’s breath caught in her throat. “You want to marry me? Truly?”
Connor laughed good-naturedly. “Are you really so surprised? I just told you that I love ye!”
Cora arched an eyebrow, her green eyes twinkling mischievously. “For all I know, ye’re just sayin’ that to get under my dress. Ye’re quite a handsy fellow, after all.”
“Oh, that so?” Connor retorted in feigned indignation, while his hands made their way up under Cora’s arms. She squealed with delight as his probing fingers poked and prodded at her most ticklish parts. The two of them were so enraptured in their cavorting they didn’t notice the half dozen rough looking men step out of the trees and into the clearing.
“My, what fun we be havin’ here, eh?”
The two young Highlanders jumped to their feet in alarm. Connor retrieved his basket-hilted sword from where it lay on the grass, and instinctively placed himself between Cora and the intruders. A sinister chuckle emanated from the crowd of brigands.
“You sure ye know how to use that cleaver, boy?” the ruffian who first heckled them jeered at Connor. “Ye’re bare old enough for that beard ye’re tryin’ to sprout!”
Indignant anger flashed across Connor’s otherwise handsome face. “Ye’re damn right! I’ve been trained by the best swordmasters in Clan MacCaeden!”
“You hear that, lads? We have us the pampered whelp of a right proper laird! I dunno about you fellas, but I’m shakin’ in me boots.” Another ripple of mocking laughter echoed around the glade. Connor flushed at this fresh round of ridicule. He gripped his sword intently enough for his knuckles to turn white. The youth pointed his blade straight at the bandit chief.
“I may be a whelp, but I’m still savvy enough to kill you craven bastards.”
All trace of amusement vanished from among the interlopers, and a tense and murderous rage rippled through the lot of them. Cora tugged frantically at Connor’s sleeve.
“Let us be away from this place, Connor! They’re gonna kill ye!”
“It’s too late for you to go now, lass. You can thank this cheeky braggart for what we’re gonna do to ye.” The wild men stalked fearsomely towards the pair, violent intent written on their savage faces.
"Run, Cora! Get yerself back to Braenamora!”
“Connor, please!” Cora wailed despondently. “Don’t do this! Come with me!”
But Connor paid no attention to his paramour’s desperate pleas. Instead, he stepped forward to intercept the bloodthirsty thugs. His first stroke caught the lead attacker in the throat. Connor changed the broadsword’s direction with skillful dexterity, lashing his next assailant across the stomach. The savage cut left a grievous and bloody gash in its wake. His third strike was parried by a rusted blade, but he nimbly rolled his sword underneath to pierce his victim’s chest.
Connor was surrounded, and the three remaining brigands took turns shoving their blades deep into his vulnerable body with sadistic glee. As a deluge of tears obscured her vision, Cora fled.
She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, floundering blindly into branches that slapped at her face and tore at her dress. She ran for what seemed an eternity until she broke clear of the trees and stumbled onto the road that led to Braenamora. Cora had no idea if she was being pursued, but she continued her anguished flight without daring to look back.
She ran headlong into a man who emerged suddenly from the forest. Cora screamed in terror as her unknown assailant grabbed at her furiously.
“Cora! Have you gone completely daft, lass?! It’s me!”
The familiar tenor broke through her hysterical frame of mind, and she managed to calm herself enough to recognize her unexpected visitor. “Duncan?! Thank God! But where did ye come from?”
Duncan MacCaeden held the frantic young woman at arm’s length. His concerned gaze roved over her disheveled appearance. “My uncle sent me to find you and Connor. What happened? Where’s my cousin gone off to?!”
“Oh, Duncan!” Cora sobbed as she pressed her face against his broad chest. Her tears soaked into the man’s rough-spun jacket. “Connor’s dead!”
Cora watched her son sleeping peacefully in his cradle as the memory of that terrible day continued to reel through her mind. She and Duncan followed her trail of broken foliage and tattered clothing to the clearing where Connor’s bloody corpse lay. The outlaws were nowhere to be seen, but they left two of their dead behind. Duncan had borne his cousin’s body back to Braenamora to be returned to his family.
His only son and heir gone, Connor’s father gave his nephew the estate at Lochmuir instead. Cora was long acquainted with Duncan, but she soon discovered that she loved him most ardently; though she would ever cherish Connor in her heart. Duncan was not as charming and roguish as his cousin - he was more stoic and reserved - but he could be just as tender and affectionate.
The sound of heavy boots thumping down the hallway outside of the nursery interrupted her reverie. Her husband burst through the door with great enthusiasm, only to be silently reprimanded with a firm gesture from Cora. A sheepish grin spread across his stubbled face. Though his hair was wild and unkempt, and his clothes were filthy from his travels, she welcomed the sight of him nonetheless.
“Sorry, lass. I forgot the bairn would be sleepin’.”
“It’s alright, my love, you startled me, is all. I didn’t expect ye back until tomorrow.”
“Aye, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Two weeks is a terrible long time to be away from you.” Duncan earnestly pulled Cora close to him in a crushing embrace. “What’s this? Have ye been cryin’?”
Cora wiped away tears that she hadn’t realized were there. “Oh, it’s nothin’. I’m just so happy to see you.”
“And I you, my darlin’ lass.”
“So, what did you important men of the clan decide? Will there be war in the Highlands?”
Duncan shook his head. “Nay, there will not. All the clans have agreed to terms. None of the chiefs be havin’ the stomach for war amongst ourselves. They’re sore afraid of my uncle.”
Cora sighed with relief. “Good. I don’t want to see you gone. Me and the bairn need you here.”
“Dinna fash, my love, all will be well,” Duncan reassured his wife, holding her close to his chest and fondly caressing her back. “Dinna fash.”
If you enjoyed reading my Thoughts, consider showing your appreciation by helping to make my dream of quitting my day job a reality.
At one point, I did think Duncan was going to say Connor had woken up and was fine, only for them all to hiss and banish him for being immortal 😃
Love this story Josh! And now I’ll be humming that lullaby all day ☺️